How long, how toilfully, how fruitlessly!
At last, my doubt had made me leave my beads,
And, moved as if to cool a feverish faith,
Pass out, the night air seeking. There I saw
The moon. It soothed me always with strange spells,
The moon. But now, as though all things would join
To rout my peace, I seem’d this moon to see
Caught up behind an angry horde of clouds,
Chased by the hot breath of a coming storm
That clang’d his thunder-bugle through the west.